


Confessions of the Drunk and In Love

by PinboardButterfly



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, Cullen is Brave, Dorian is Drunk, Fluff, M/M, Poor Dorian, Post In Your Heart Shall Burn, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 08:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13314531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinboardButterfly/pseuds/PinboardButterfly
Summary: "Her, or you?"It is not a good night for either Cullen or Dorian to be confessing things to one another. And yet here they are.





	Confessions of the Drunk and In Love

Dorian was not taking the news of Felix’s death well.

After the Inquisitor dropped by to offer her condolences, as well as coincidentally reminding him of exactly how much he’d lost, he opened up a bottle of aggregio that he’d had imported from Tevinter. Four glasses in and he was decidedly not numb enough for his liking. He was still able to read, after all. Scanning a book of Ferelden history, he continued sipping the wine, and scoffed at the absurdity of it all. Felix was dead. Gentle, wonderful Felix was dead. Quite honestly, he could scarcely believe it. Time and time again he’d said that Felix was a better man than he. And it seemed, even now, that fact had not changed.

His mind ran over what he’d told the Inquisitor, about Felix sneaking him treats from the kitchen whilst he’d been working late in Alexius’s study. He missed the man more than words could describe. Maybe he and Felix had never been together. It didn’t matter. He cared for him all the same. And he hadn’t wanted to do anything to jeopardise that. His father had always said he ruined everything he touched, and Felix was one thing he didn’t want to taint.

Only when the words on the page began to run did Dorian close the tome and realise he’d finished not one, but near two bottles of the aggregio. He’d never had much restraint when it came to wine.

On slightly unsteady legs, Dorian got to his feet, fully intending to just retire to his quarters, when he glanced out of the window and noticed that night had fallen outside of Skyhold.

“Gardens,” he mumbled to himself, and made his way downstairs.

Elsewhere, Commander Cullen Rutherford was making his way across the battlements and down to the Chantry shrine. Marching the Inquisition’s troops through the Frostbacks had taken its toll on his patience and their resources, and he was in desperate need of some time away from everything, including his own thoughts. The shrine was illuminated in a honey glow by a number of candles clustered about its base. Skyhold was disconcertingly empty as night swept in, and Cullen was only too happy to cross the courtyard and enter inside - _without_ engaging in casual chatter with the sisters who usually hung around it like a flock of vultures.

He knelt in front of the shrine, clasped his hands, and began to murmur the Chant of Light, instantly feeling his worries and concerns dissipate as he slipped into the familiar rhythm.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the–”

“Oh _fuck_.”

Cullen turned around sharply in time to witness Ser Dorian Pavus land face-first into the Inquisitor’s herb garden, with not so much as his hands out in front of himself to stop the fall. Cullen frowned and got to his feet, going to the door. Dorian, with no small amount of flailing, managed to right himself, and then stood, staring, as he caught sight of the former Templar.

“Commander!” he announced, somewhat inelegantly. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“Nor I you,” Cullen answered, taking a step towards the mage, who was swaying slightly. “Is everything… alright?”

“Perfectly. I don’t understand what gave you the impression it isn’t.”

Dorian managed to finish the sentence before he toppled forwards, and Cullen rushed to meet him, catching the mage in his arms just before he hit the ground. Dorian gazed up at him, a little dazed, blinking languidly and seemingly unware he’d almost hurt himself again.

“My, Commander, how did this happen?” Dorian asked, as Cullen propped him back up again, one arm slung about his waist. “I must be dreaming. This is usually how they go.”

“Are you… _drunk_?” Cullen asked, incredulous. He’d never seen the man drunk; Dorian could hold his liquor almost as well as Bull.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve had a glass or two, no more.”

Cullen chuckled. “I’m sure. Is there any particular reason why you’re out here, or will you permit me to escort you back to your quarters before you flop into another flower bed?”

And just like that, it was like striking a match. Dorian’s face grew serious, and Cullen frowned, tightening his hold on the mage just in case he was about to faint. To his surprise, Dorian gripped back, with an astounding amount of strength for his current state, as if he was afraid the Commander was about to disappear out from under him.

“I wanted to see the stars.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “The stars? Well – I suppose you – I could find you a seat somewhere?”

Dorian nodded. “Wonderful. Thank you.”

The Commander escorted Dorian over to one of the benches out near the centre of the courtyard and attempted to help him sit down on it. When it became clear Dorian wasn’t about to let go of him any time soon, he settled them both onto the cold stone, and diverted his attention to the mage. His hair was swept back from his face in a softly dishevelled sort of look, altogether rather endearing, despite him knowing that it came from the earlier mishap with the herb garden. His eyes were glossy, but whether it was because of the drink, or something else, he couldn’t be sure. And his expression was open, engaging – the first time Cullen could be sure that Dorian wasn’t putting on an act.

“Felix loved the stars.”

Cullen started, having found himself drawn into the sincerity of the other man’s expression.

“F-Felix? Do I–”

“You weren’t there.” Dorian shook his head, and leant into the Commander a little more. “He was Gireon Alexius’s son. He helped the Inquisitor and I, back in Redcliffe. But I knew him for a long time before then.”

“Alexius? The magister – he was your mentor, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.” Dorian managed a small smile. “I idolised him. But he’s gone now. And so, too, is Felix.”

Instantly Cullen understood the situation. Briefly, he wondered if Felix and Dorian had been involved romantically, but it was a passing thought, although not one that failed to rouse just a little protectiveness in him. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he gave the man a gentle squeeze. Dorian returned the gesture with a watery smile, and then glanced up at the sky.

“Felix and I used to sneak outside when I was supposed to be studying, and we’d lie on the roof of Alexius’s mansion, pointing out constellations in the sky. We’d spend so long outside, talking – just _talking_ , that eventually Alexius would send someone to find me. Time just sort of… slipped away.”

There was a short silence, and then Dorian gave a loud sigh, and attempted to unentwine himself from Cullen.

“I apologise, Commander. I appear to be dreadful company tonight. I shouldn’t have burdened you like this. How terribly impolite.”

Cullen scrambled to his feet, following the mage. “No, no – and if there’s anything I can do…”

Dorian smiled sadly. “There isn’t, but thank you all the same. You are a true friend.”

_Friend_. The word had sat on the tip of the Commander’s tongue for a long time. It was true; he spent more time in Dorian’s company than anyone else’s in Skyhold. Their weekly chess matches, they ate dinner together in the Grand Hall, and it was a rare occurrence if the Commander didn’t pop by at least twice a week to borrow a book from Dorian’s library. It was wonderful to hear Dorian call him that. So why did the word _friend_ make him feel so hollow?

“Come,” Cullen said softly, taking the other man’s arm when he made no moves to resist. “Let me escort you to your quarters. It is the least I can do.”

And Dorian smiled weakly. “Alright.”

By the time they made it to the tower it was clear that Dorian wouldn’t make it up the spiral flight of stairs to his room. With gentle encouragement, he agreed to stay in Cullen’s quarters for the evening. It took slightly longer to make it to the Commander’s tower, but at least the terrain was flatter, and they managed it without any further mishaps. Briefly, Cullen wondered just how much the mage had drank. He wondered if it was any relation to how much he’d cared for Felix.

The candles in his office had burned low by the time they arrived. Dorian made some drunkenly derogatory comment about his book collection before Cullen ushered him up the ladder to his quarters. Thankfully, the ladder was easier than stairs. At least he had something to hold onto as he went.

His bedroom was cold, even for a Ferelden like him. The hole in the roof was letting in a soft shower of flakes, which must have just started falling after they’d entered. The covers of his bed were in disarray, and there was still a number of debris clusters scattered across the floor.

Dorian raised an eyebrow and gestured to the roof. “My dear Commander – shouldn’t you have that repaired? The Inquisitor would be positively mortified should you ever finally invite her up here.”

Cullen chuckled. “Worry not, Ser Dorian. The Inquisitor shall be receiving no invitations from me.”

“Oh? Do tell. Have you had a spat? Lover’s quarrel?”

As they were talking, Cullen moved them over to the bed, and pulled back the covers. He lit a candle beside the bed, and then began helping Dorian out of his overclothes.

“No quarrel, nothing so dramatic. It just… wasn’t working. You know how things go.”

“I do. And usually, it’s because there’s someone else. So tell me, Commander–” and here Dorian curled a finger under Cullen’s chin, forcing him to meet the mage’s eye “–was it her, or you?”

Cullen choked. “I – I don’t know what you mean.”

“ _Really_?” Dorian chuckled. “Because you’re currently undressing me, in the middle of your private quarters, in the early hours of the morning, before inviting me into your bed. Now, however does that sound, hm? Do I need to ask again?”

Cullen squirmed. “Dorian–”

“Her, or you?”

“That’s _none_ of your business.” The Commander flushed, and Dorian withdrew his finger from beneath his chin. “Now, help me with these damn straps, or you’ll be sleeping on the floor.”

Dorian chuckled but did as bid, fingers, even thick with drink, nimbler than Cullen’s about the buckles on his armour. It didn’t take long before he was down to his shirt and greaves, and shivering slightly.

“Come on,” Cullen said, gesturing to the bed. “Get some sleep. If you’re so desperate for details, you can pester me about my love life in the morning, when you’re sober.”

“I’ll hold you to that, I hope you know.” Dorian clambered under the covers. “And – wait a moment, where are you sleeping?”

“Downstairs.”

Dorian snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s freezing in here – yet another blessing of Ferelden’s amicable climate, a term I use in the most sarcastic of senses.” A pause, and then: “Stay.”

Cullen hesitated, but then sighed, and relented. He didn’t really want to sleep at his desk anyways, and it was bitterly cold tonight. He’d suggested it more out of politeness than practicality. After all, the bed was big enough for two.

“Fine.”

Dorian looked surprised; Cullen unbuckled the mantle from about his shoulders and sat it on the floor by the bed. The chest plate, sword belt, boots, and gauntlets followed, then his overclothes.

“A private show, my, _my_ ,” Dorian sighed happily as Cullen rolled his eyes and climbed into the bed beside him. “Perhaps I should get drunk more often.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” the Commander replied, bunching up the covers for warmth. “You’ll regret this in the morning, I guarantee.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Dorian laughed softly. “But one more thing, before I fall asleep…”

He rolled over, so that the two of them were face to face. Cullen had to stifle a small noise of appreciation; the man looked stunning, especially in the pale light accompanying the snow coming in through his roof. For just a moment his mind flickered back to what Dorian had mentioned earlier, about inviting the Inquisitor up to his quarters, and realised suddenly, and with no small amount of shock, that there was literally no-one else he’d rather have in his bed than the mage from Tevinter. The thought sent sparks through his skin.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Cullen started, yanked from his reveries by the question. “I – what? Love?”

“Yes, _love_ , Commander. You understand the concept, yes?”

“Well – yes, of course I do.”

“Thank the Maker. And have you?”

“Have I what?”

Dorian sighed. “This conversation is a _disaster_. Why do I even–”

“Yes.”

Dorian glanced up, surprised.

“Yes, I’ve been in love. At least, I think I have.”

“Really? Do tell.”

Cullen felt himself blush. “Both were mages. One, at the Circle Tower in Ferelden. She was among my charges. Beautiful, cordial, an Andrastian. She became the Hero of Ferelden.”

Dorian nodded. “Understandable. I’ve never met the Hero of Ferelden, but I have heard tales of her. I didn’t realise she knew you, however. And I’m assuming this never went anywhere?”

Cullen shook his head. “A boyish infatuation, but I think I loved her nonetheless.”

“And let me guess – the second is our dear Inquisitor, who, despite being hopelessly in love with, you have declined the relationship she offered.”

“No.”

Dorian lifted his head slightly. “ _No_? What other mage could you _possibly_ –”

“ _You_ , Dorian.”

There was a heavy silence. Cullen’s heart thudded against his ribs, and he could feel his tongue stick in his throat. He hadn’t intended to tell Dorian – perhaps _ever_ , had the Maker been kind. It was a soft love, one he didn’t yet fully understand, and yet he wanted him all the same, with such fervour as he’d wanted the Hero before. He was not good with feelings. He felt it better to ignore them than to act on them. Feelings got you hurt, and Cullen had had enough hurt in his life for two lifetimes.

There was a rustle in the bedsheets as Dorian bridged the gap between them. Cullen flinched slightly in surprise as he felt the other man’s hand against his neck, and then –

“You love me.”

Cullen nodded. Dorian’s face was so earnest he felt something in his chest snap. Before Dorian could say anything further, the Commander ducked his head and kissed him. Dorian’s mouth was warm and sweet with wine, and he kissed back, somewhat desperately. The hand at his neck was gentle and caressing, the mage’s thumb brushing the line of his jaw so as to send shivers across his skin, and Cullen’s own hand wrapped about Dorian’s waist, tugging against him until their torsos bumped together. When they broke apart, Cullen felt somewhat remorseful.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured into Dorian’s lips.

“Why ever not, my dear Commander?”

“You’re drunk. I’m taking advantage of you.”

Dorian laughed. “Don’t be absurd. If I hadn’t wanted to, you would be aware, I assure you.”

“I…” Cullen struggled for the words, heart still aflutter. “I need to apologise.”

At this, Dorian looked a little concerned. “I’m not sure that you do, Commander. Whatever do you have to be sorry for?”

“I should have said something sooner. Now was not the right time. And my attitude towards you when we first met was… less than pleasant.”

“Commander, when you and I first had the pleasure of meeting, Haven was about to be swamped by Corypheus’s army and a that bloody dragon of his. I think I can forgive you a little discourteousness.”

“But I–”

“Shush.” Dorian kissed him again, gently, but with earnest. “No more talking. No more apologies. Neither of us seem to have had the right timing. But it’s happened all the same. Now, before you do something you’ll undoubtedly beat yourself up over later – I shall retire. And when I wake up, I fully expect you to still be here, and do all the horribly romantic things a lover does when their partner wakes up next to them in the morning, when we shall discuss this further. Alright?”

Cullen nodded, the tips of their noses brushing, his breath catching a little in his throat. “Alright.”

“Splendid. Goodnight, Commander.” Dorian kissed him one last time, mouth aflame, before he closed his eyes, and settled back into the pillows.

Cullen did not fall asleep for a long, long time. At first, he lay awake, overwhelmed by the sensation of being this close and not having to hide, of feeling the nerves in his skin shiver whenever Dorian brushed against him in his sleep. Then, he felt himself slip into studying the other man’s expression, the curves of his jaw, the light playing across his skin. By the time he fell asleep, he’d got lost somewhere in-between memorising the lines of his face and the feelings fluttering about in his chest upon doing so.

And in the morning, when Dorian awoke, bleary-eyed, with a pounding headache and a tender stomach, Cullen kissed his forehead, wrapped his arms around him, and made sure he had not a care in the world.


End file.
